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Reflections on
Blessing One: Avot
v’Imahot
John
Planer
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While I find our
liturgy beautiful and touching, some prayers are
problematic. The first blessing in particular presents
difficulties for me.
The first word, baruch,
is not at all clear, for its meaning changes depending
who is blessing whom. When we bless God, the sense is
“praise.” But when we ask God’s blessing, we seek
specific benefits--not praise.
The concept of z’chut
avot ( ) affirms that the great merits of our
ancestors have deposited with God a hefty savings-account of
virtue which we, their descendants, can withdraw in order to
purchase God’s favor. This Jewish concept closely
resembles Christian doctrine of salvation from original sin
and subsequent damnation through Jesus’s atoning death.
In both faiths the virtue and piety of a predecessor justify
God’s favored treatment of a descendent or adherent. But
Judaism rejects forcefully vicarious atonement; instead it
insists that we assume responsibility for our behavior and its
consequences. Thus our appeal to ancestral virtues
troubles me, as it did Isaac Mayer Wise. (See Rabbi Sarason’s
second footnote.)
Moreover, the seven ancestors we name were certainly not
all virtuous, however vigorously the rabbis tried to justify
some of their behaviors. Abraham, Sarah, Rebecca, and
especially Jacob were not entirely
admirable.
Citing God’s attributes--great, might, awesome,
supreme--prior to petitionary prayer smacks of flattery
and guile. We toady God, sucking up so that our requests
might be granted. It implies God is a fool who cannot
ascertain our hidden motives and whom we can
manipulate.
The appeal to the contractual loyalty of our ancestors to
God and Her/His protection in return refers, of course, to the
Covenant. The prayer implies that we, as the descendants
of the patriarchs and matriarchs, are also bound by that
Covenant. But no one is bound by a prenatal agreement
any more than we are responsible for the sins of our
grandparents or Adam and Eve. We choose
to affirm our covenant with God, and each of us writes that
covenant individually. We are all Jews by Choice--not by
ancestral contract, coercion, or
obligation.
The word “redeemer” was changed to “redemption” to avoid
direct reference to a human messiah. Redemption from
Egypt is clear;
redemption in contemporary times is
undefined.
Our liturgy makes repeated reference to the power of God’s
name--here, in the Kaddish
and Kedushah,
and elsewhere we refer often to the Name rather than the
Person. It smacks of one who loves the flag but ignores
violations of the nation’s deepest
ideals.
Finally the word b’ahavah
dangles, as if it were an afterthought. That love of
God--a mixture of respect, trust, and affection--would be
incidental rather than central troubles me.
I wrestle with these issues. But I also affirm
the essence of this blessing. Judaism centers upon
our covenants with God--our membership in an ancient tribe,
which each of us willingly affirms; we pray to our
God--Eloheinu.
The plural forms Eloheinu
and Elohei
perhaps refer to the various ways in which we envision
God--not only as did our seven ancestors but also as we do at
different moments in our
life.
While praise preceding petition is suspect, nevertheless
the very nature of worship acknowledges God’s attributes
and expresses gratitude for life, health, opportunity, and
joy.
Though the seven patriarchs and matriarchs were not always
paragons of virtue, neither are we. Our sacred stories
are not about heroes, gods, and goddesses but rather about
fallible women and men--mixtures of virtues and vices.
Our texts are paradigms of reality--not fantasy; we can
readily see in our ancestors’ lives parallels with our
own.
That “redemption” is undefined presents no problem.
In all ages we have sought liberation, understood in
the broadest
sense.
Perhaps b’ahavah
is not an afterthought. While in many languages--English
and Hebrew--the opening words of a sentence are emphatic,
occasionally the final word is
climactic.
One great challenge of a fixed liturgy is mechanical
recitation--thoughtless articulation of syllables without
continually reconsidering their meanings. For me, such
repetition is not only meaningless--it insults our
Creator. Struggling with the implications keeps the
words fresh and helps me pray with
sincerity.
John Planer
conducts a volunteer choir at Achduth Vesholom Congregation in
Fort
Wayne. He is Professor of Music at
Manchester
College in Indiana. Finally he is past
president of the Guild of Temple Musicians.
For more
information about Mishkan
T'filah, visit urj.org/mishkan.
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